You Look Good in Gray
by Nightfall169
Summary: It all started one day in detention...the day Neville began unraveling the riddle that is Draco Malfoy. Neville/Draco slash.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yes I ship them. No I won't explain why here. I'll post my reasoning on my profile eventually. Be warned that I have university exams coming up, so Chapter 2 isn't going to come out

for a couple of weeks (probably). It's only halfway done.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but this idea in my head. If I did, they'd be canon. ^^

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**You Look Good in Gray**

Chapter 1

Now he's really done it. Poor Neville Longbottom has landed in detention. _Again_. Wasn't his fault this time, too. They were having Transfiguration class and he'd sat next to Hannah Abbot, who had to make up a lesson because she was sick. She'd bumped his hand while he was trying to turn his block of wood into a wind-up monkey, and, well....Let's just say Hannah wasn't too pleased to have suddenly sprouted a tail and cymbals. Now he has to make it up with Snape of all people.

_I am going to die. I'm not gonna come back to the common room and they won't even find my body._

What made all this even worse, was that Snape had decided that the best way to torture poor Neville was to have him help Draco Malfoy with his extra potions work. That'll get him another detention for sure. Draco was brilliant in potions and Neville would surely ruin his work.

Why is he doing extra work for Potions anyway?

Just then, the lithe blonde sauntered into the room, as if he owned it. Which, due the fact that Snape practically adopted him, he kind of did.

"What are you doing here Longbottom?"

"D-detention."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. Neville was a charity case, he was sure. Ever since last year, when he started his makeshift apprenticeship, Snape seemed to enjoy giving him completely useless assistants that just happened to get detention. Something about hoping Draco's influence would make them better in the class. All of them had been failures, of course. Potions wasn't something one got by practising. You either do or you don't.

"I am going to make Boil Cure potion for the stores. You, Longbottom, will either do exactly as I say, or you can stand there, look pretty, and get off with the easiest detention ever. Am I clear?"

Neville turned carnation pink, hiding it by scratching his face with his sleeve. Something was weird about having the boy mention him and the word 'pretty' in the same sentence.

"I-I'll try to help."

Draco turned away, muttering something about 'gods-damned Gryffindors' and started to set up the cauldron. Neville stood off to the side, shifting from foot to foot and looking generally useless. Until Draco decided to yell out:

"Hand me the dried nettles."

It was very much an order. Neville looked up, startled, then started looking around frantically for the ingredients. It took him about five minutes, but eventually the dried nettles were retrieved successfully, and Neville ran back to Draco with the bottle. The latter stood tapping his foot, looking very bored. Snatching the bottle from Neville's hands, he turned back to the cauldron and began working. But soon after:

"You better be faster next time, Longbottom. This potion shouldn't have to take four hours just because _you_ can't find your way around a cupboard."

Neville sighed, staring down at his shoes, fiddling with the sleeve of his robe, his honey-blonde hair falling in front of his face. He would never _ever_ be good at Potions. He couldn't even fetch the ingredients properly. But apparently, he wasn't as useless as he had thought, because Draco soon called out another ingredient. This next one took less time to find, and as time went on, Neville became quite used to the stores. Instead of moping about his apparent fate as Draco's human house elf, he resolved to just watch the boy brew. It soon became quite clear why he'd received such good marks in Potions. Careful and methodical, he followed all of the directions by the book exactly. He cut the necessary components with an exactness that was almost scary, but then again, Neville thought, he was like that with his plants too. No one, not one of the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws, understood just what it took to grow a plant properly. Professor Sprout frequently lamented this particular fact during his (prolonged) stays in the greenhouse. Snapping out of his little revere, he noticed Draco adding the last ingredient he delivered to the potion. Neville took a glance over into the book and saw that there was only one component left to add: porcupine quills. He spotted it on the top shelf of the stores and went to retrieve it. Just when the young Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, there was Neville, dropping the last bottle into his hand. Draco froze, surprised, and stared at the thing as if it had apparated there of its own accord, before resuming the work. Neville was quite proud of himself.

_Rendering the infamous Draco Malfoy speechless. That was a feat not even Harry Potter could achieve._

"Is it done?" he heard himself ask

"Almost."

Surprisingly, the response was devoid of any sneer or contempt. In fact, Malfoy sounded almost excited. He turned for the stirring rod, and Neville caught the gleam in his eye. It was so startling, that he took a step back.

_I recognize that look. That's the look Harry gets when he mounts a broom. It's the look Hermoine gets when she announces she's going to the library, or when Parvati is about to reveal a piece of what she thinks is particularly interesting gossip._

The prospect that the Slytherin Prince was so very similar to his own housemates was a bit of a shock to the shy Gryffindor. He barely heard said prince remark, with a smirk, that this potion was nothing short of perfect.

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Reviews make me happy. Please review! Flames, along with flamers, will be fed to Ammit!!!!


	2. Chapter 2: Green is My Shelter

A/N: Here's Chapter 2. It's been a while, I know. But now I'm back home, so I should be able to finish this thing. The next chapter will be the last, but there's a sequel, so watch out for it.

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Chapter 2 – Green is My Shelter

"Oh I am so _sorry_ Neville."

"'s not you fault."

Life was not liking Neville today. His grandmother decided that the castle is getting drafty, and therefore sent a sweater. A horrid sweater. A horrid puke-orange sweater. It smelled like the back of someone's closet. Neville dropped it on the armchair and hid his face in his hands as Hermoine patted his shoulder sympathetically. On one hand, he knew the school will let him know just how silly the sweater looked, but on the other, he couldn't send back a present with such well-meaning behind it. Not that it's a contest between the two. Neville was never one to cross his own family.

"Don't worry about it, Hermoine. I'll transfigure it later."

The bright red and gold hues of the Gryffindor common room, splashed onto seemingly every object one cared to gaze at, usually comforted him with a feeling of warm coziness. But now, combined with the highly unusual colour of his new sweater, Neville felt like he was on fire.

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He took a deep breath, inhaling the cool evening air. Standing outside of the greenhouse, watching the sun set behind Hogwarts was one of his favourite things to do. The sky growing pink behind the colossal stone castle, the soothing green of the plants around him, the smell of moist earth wafting from his personal plant collection....

Speaking of his plants, Neville could have sworn he heard a rustle coming from the greenhouse. Stepping onto the front step, he poked his head inside. The blisswort (which has been doing ever so well, by the way) seemed to have animated itself. Thankfully, this was Neville's own element.

"I know you're in there. You better come out." he said quietly

The blisswort rustled indignantly and a very pale Malfoy rose from behind its lush greenery. Neville sighed in relief. For a moment, he was afraid that it was Cormac McLaggen come to poke fun at him again. Why that boy decided that making fun of Neville was entertaining, he'd never know.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy. It's after hours."

_"I_ happen to need some of this for a potion I'm making. Professor Snape gave me permission. Why are _you_ here Longbottom? Isn't it late for you? Wouldn't your grandma disapprove?_"_

Neville sighed. So it was the nasty road today....

Draco held some sort of special knife and a few small leaves. Evidently, he was trying to have his theft go unnoticed.

"You've picked the wrong leaves. You'd want the bigger ones for good effect."

Neville pointed to the middle portion of the blisswort. As Malfoy cautiously gathered his potions ingredient, curiosity struck.

"Why do you need blisswort anyway? It's usually used for epilepsy...You're not epileptic, are you, Draco?"

The Malfoy straightened himself out, glaring.

"Of _course_ not, you fool."

"Then why?"

All of a sudden, the paler boy looked away, with a tired look in his eye. Neville froze. The gears in his brain started turning so quickly, he briefly wondered if Draco could hear them. Blisswort, generally used to treat tremors, insomnia, anxiety, emotional trauma, serious injury....always kept on hand at St. Mungo's for epileptic wizards, terrible accidents, and sometimes, cases of abuse.

_No. No no no no no no..._

He remembered reading how after the First War, a couple of children surfaced with cases of severe emotional trauma and the aftereffects of Crucio. All of these unfortunates were treated with highly concentrated potion that contained primarily blisswort and some sage. Developed by Severus Snape, too....

Neville turned deathly pale as all of the little questions and quirks in one Draco Malfoy's character all seemed to fall into place. Always dressing formally meant he always looked, as his grandmother put it, 'presentable'. Neville had just chalked it all up to his pride. But what if it really hid scars....

_He always threatens people with his father....did his _father_ curse him? Or perhaps protect him from those who _actually_ did it? What if all his cockiness is an attempt to hide weakness?_

Crucio usually didn't leave scars. But someone cruel enough to crucio would also be capable of bodily harm. The more Neville thought about it, the more horrible it all seemed. The worst of his thoughts where confirmed when he felt a thin hand on his shoulder.

"You tell _anyone_, Longbottom, anyone at all and you're dead. Do you understand?"

Neville nodded slowly. The hand retreated. Quiet footsteps passed him and headed towards the exit. A pause.

"The last person I expected to find out...." came the whisper

In a single breath, he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3: Marked Stone

A/N: This is the last chapter. It's taken a while, but it's beta'd. A great big 'Thank you!' to all who reviewed this story. Look out for the sequel, titled "What the Gryphons Know".

I'm also working on a cross-over with Yugioh called the Book of Worlds Series but that might take a bit longer.

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**Chapter 3 - Marked Stone**

"Awww. Why can't I get this right?"

Poor Neville had spent half an hour trying to change the colour of that god-awful sweater. He'd tried making it red, like Ron's, white, purple, blue, even his traditional green. Nothing worked. It wasn't orange anymore, but it turned grey on his first try and refused to turn any other colour. Neville stepped back from the sweater in exasperation.

"It's not really a bad colour, mate." Ron attempted sympathy

Which it wasn't. It was that dark grey colour most often seen on wolves. But Neville didn't usually wear grey.

"Oh well. Just gonna have to deal with it the way it is."

Neville pulled on the sweater, suddenly thankful he had something extra-warm to wear. An unexpected frost covered the area, catching the castle unawares.

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He'd tagged along with the so-called Golden Trio on their way to Gryffindor Tower, when he spotted Malfoy and his gang walking the other way.

_ Oh no. Please let this go by smoothly this time. No fights!..._

No such luck. Of _course_ the Slytherins had to look like they were laughing at them, and of _course_ Ron had to say something back. Both sides stopped to fling insults at each other until, finally, Ron's patience came to an abrupt and explosive end. No one heard exactly what spell Ron had cast (Hermoine and Harry were trying to calm him down), but whatever it was, it flung the cocky Malfoy back into the wall behind him. Collapsing onto the floor, he barely moved, except to clutch his ribs and yelp in pain. Some of the Gryffindors were laughing, most of the crowd was frozen in shock, and a few (mostly girls) whispered amongst themselves, hands raised to their faces in concern. Pansy Parkinson, frightened, stood rooted to the ground. Crabbe and Goyle rushed to the boy's side, trying to get him to get up, but he cried out at every attempt.

_Well, they _did_ start __it. __I wonder why he's holding his sides._ Neville wondered absently

The answer hit him with all the subtlety of an angry Whomping Willow.

_Damn it!_

Neville pushed his way to the front of the crowd, feeling that rare spark of Gryffindor courage.

"Pansy. Go find Professor Snape. Tell him what happened. I'll try to get him to the hospital wing." he said, with a surprising amount of authority. Pansy nodded at him and disappeared down the hall. Neville was looking for a way to lift Draco up without hurting him too much. Crabbe and Goyle sat dumbfounded, mouths hanging open, too shocked to interfere. Finally lifting him up, Neville walked as fast as he could to the hospital wing. Halfway there, Goyle caught up, but said nothing. They caught Madame Pomfrey, slightly off-guard, by the entrance. She turned pale almost instantly, but waved them over to a cot. Neville put the Malfoy down, only to be startled by a large black shape right next to him. Slowly looking up, Neville discovered that said black shape was, in fact, Professor Snape.

"It seems Miss Parkinson hadn't been imagining things..." he uttered, fixing the poor Gryffindor with his cold gaze

Neville's spark of courage promptly disappeared, leaving him shaking like a first-year Hufflepuff.

"Now," Snape turned his attention to the boy on the cot, "What, exactly, happened? Despite Miss Parkinson's timely appearance at my office, she had been rendered incapable of human speech."

Neville, too, turned his attention to Draco, finding that focusing on something that wasn't black, like the boy's hair, helped ease the fear that had hatched in the bottom of his stomach. He began, stuttering a bit, to explain everything from the mocking laughs that started the whole ordeal, to Draco curling up on the ground like cat ready to die. Professor Snape listened to all of this while administering a potion he'd produced from his robes. Neville silently remarked that it smelled vaguely of blisswort. His story ended, his mouth shut automatically, and he heard the professor's voice answer him.

"Quick thinking on your part, Longbottom. Surprising."

Neville could almost hear the raised eyebrow.

"But you did the right thing. If he was left there much longer, there would have been significant damage. Perhaps," he paused "Gryffindor foolishness has its uses."

The head of Slytherin quickly swept past Neville in his usual bat-like manner, but he could've sworn he'd heard a tentative "fifteen points to Gryffindor" whispered under the professor's breath.

He made his way back to the portrait of the Fat Lady, on the other side of which he found a common room full of gossiping peers. A red-faced Ron Weasley stepped out of the small crowd.

"What was the deal back there, Neville?" he asked barely hiding anger and confusion

"He was hurt, so I took him to the hospital wing." Neville sighed

"Oh, come on. It was barely anything! He deserved it anyway."

Neville was silent. Ron turned to the others.

"Did you see the git? Got hit in the back, but fell holding his sides. The little faker..."

Only Dean saw Neville's eyes light up, as though set aflame.

"Who are _you_ to judge that, Weasley?"

Ron whipped around with half a retort, but was struck with his housemate's uncharacteristic stare.

"You don't even know what happened!"

Ron sat back on an armchair, pale as snow, as Neville stepped closer, almost looming over him.

"What do you think happened back in fifth year, when Moody turned him into a ferret? What do you _think_ happens to a small animal like that when it's hit against stone?"

Neville dropped his voice lower.

"I don't know much about animals...I'm better with plants...but his ribs would have definitely been..."

"Still a right-foul git," Seamus's voice floated by

"Doesn't matter who he is,"

Harry put his hand on Neville's shoulder.

"You did what you thought was right."

Neville nodded and headed straight to bed. He awoke two hours later with an immense headache.

_ Ah! Damn it! Should've changed...need some fresh air._

The sun had almost set, but Neville still decided to head out. He'd intended to go to the greenhouse to relax, but he found himself looking at the hospital wing door. Sighing, he pushed it aside and made his way to Draco's cot.

_Please let him be asleep..._

Indeed, the boy's eyes were closed. Neville breathed out, sat down in a chair next to the cot and closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he felt his headache lifting, as though someone took a bed-sheet off his head.

"You look good in gray, you should wear it more often."

That voice, weak though it was, still managed to send a chill down his spine. He felt his back tense. His face turned that soft shade of pink once again.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

Sorry for this fake chapter, but I noticed that people where still putting this on alert. Just to be clear, this fic is over. There will be a sequel, but there will be no more chapters in this one. Thank you for the reviews and, if you want a continuation, watch out for "What the Gryphons Know".


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